Chapter 92
The maid felt wronged in her own way. Among the maids, no one could go against Angelaâs opinion.
She offered excuses, saying she had no choice, but the northern maids were steeped in arrogance. The only nobles they had encountered in their lives were Edmund, the collateral relatives of the Winter family, and a handful of retainers.
Since there were so few people working in the North, there were quite a few nobles who went out of their way to gain favor even with mere maids. It was inevitable that the maids would become conceited, even going so far as to entertain the absurd notion that they stood on equal footing with the nobility.
And then, before their very eyes, a tantalizing prey fell into their laps, ripe for the taking. A noblewoman, a Duchess no less, yet completely unloved by her husband.
The maids joined Angelaâs torment with a willing heart and even delight. They believed the relationship between the Madam and His Excellency would never be repaired. So when the dismissal notice came, they were almost relieved.
âUgh, itâs freezing.â
One of the maids shivered as the icy wind pierced through her clothes.
âLetâs hurry.â
With arms full of laundry, the maids quickly changed the subject and wandered off, chatting amongst themselves. Yet even after they were gone, Damian remained behind the tree for quite some time. His head, which had once felt light, now sank like waterlogged cotton.
As he blinked, the snow settled on his lashes fell. A shallow breath escaped between his lips, and a pale fog clouded his vision.Â
It was only then that Damian realized he hadnât blinked or even breathed for a long while. Forcing his feet, frozen stiff in the snow, to move, he trudged forward.
He found himself back in his room. Grabbing a sheet of stationery of decent size, Damian quickly filled it with his writing. Once he had finished, he summoned a carrier bird, tied the letter to its leg, and sent it off.
âYoung Lord? If you were back, why didnât you call for me?â
Vent entered the study, steam still rising from his skin after a bath. He shivered at the cold wind seeping through the window Damian had left open to send off the bird.
Damian closed the window.
âVent.â
ââŠYes, sir. What is it?â
Vent couldnât help but feel confused. Just an hour ago, Damian had seemed at ease after the sparring match, and Vent had been certain their carefully laid plan had succeeded.
But now, Damian looked... sunken. Something had changed. Just as Vent was about to ask what had happened, Damian spoke first.
âBring me someone who knows everything about this estate.â
â â âÂ
âYoung Lord, we heard you called for us.â
The Chamberlain and Chambermaid arrived in a rush, caught off guard by the sudden summons. While they had each been called in for small matters before, this was the first time they had been summoned together.
âI have some questions for you.â
Still bowing, the two exchanged a quick glance.
For decades, the Chamberlain and the Chambermaid had stood as solid pillars in their roles. If one of them found themselves backed into a corner, the other always helped. It was this mutual support that allowed them to retain their positions within the Winter family for so long.
From the moment Damian said he had questions, both silently vowed not to answer anything truthfully. They lowered their heads even further.
âChamberlain. What were my motherâs main duties?â
ââŠThe Madamâs duties?â
The Chamberlain, caught off guard by the unexpected question, reflexively echoed it.
âYes.â
âAh, the Madam⊠WellâŠâ
A chill ran down his spine. If he admitted that he didnât know, it would mean he hadnât properly served his Mistress. But then again, Damian had never shown any interest in Daphne either, so whether he lied or not, there was no way for Damian to know.
âWith all due respect, as you may already know, the Madam took pleasure in extravagance. Whenever the merchants came, she would be the first to rush out, taking all the jewels and dresses, and it was left to us to settle the bills.â
Damian turned his gaze to the Chambermaid. She already knew what she needed to say.
âThe Chamberlain speaks the truth. We tried to handle it quietly so it wouldnât reach your ears or His Excellencyâs⊠but now, we must tell you.â
As if they had truly wanted to protect their Mistress, the Chambermaid bit her lip and closed her eyes tightly, then reopened them.
âI see.â
Damian didnât press further, as if he accepted their words at face value.
And truly, the Chamberlain and Chambermaid had nothing to fear. The Madam they knew had remained silent no matter what happened to her these past five years. There was no reputation left to ruin with a lie like this.
âWhy didnât my mother have a personal maid?â
This time, the Chambermaid had to respond. She briefly wondered how Damian even knew that, but replied smoothly, as if she had prepared for it all along.
âAt first, everyone volunteered to serve as her personal maid. But none of the girls lasted more than a week. The Madam would give unreasonable orders and punish anyone who failed to carry them out. We never imagined it would be misunderstood as a deliberate decision not to assign her anyone. If you must punish someone, please punish me, Young Lord.â
Damian stared down at the Chambermaid, who was prostrated on the floor, and waved his hand.
ââŠForget it. Whatâs the point of punishment for something in the past? You may go.â
For all the tension they had built up, the encounter ended anticlimactically.
Damian silently stared at the space where the Chamberlain and Chambermaid had just stood.
âAnna⊠was that her name?â
He recalled someone buried deep in his memory.
The maid who had been the first to realize that his mother was gone, and the one who reported it.
What the Chamberlain and Chambermaid said was the complete opposite of what Anna had once told him. According to Anna, Daphne liked watching wildflowers, and not a single maid had ever volunteered to serve her.
Damian headed somewhere. When he opened the door to the room, thick dust greeted him first.
He looked around the room where Daphne had spent the last five years. He had set foot in here only a handful of times, and the space felt foreign to him. Damian stepped inside. He opened every drawer and wardrobe, checking their contents.
ââŠShe enjoyed luxury, did she?â
There was nothing of value.
Low-grade parchment. A worn quill with a broken nib, bound together with string. An already depleted mana stone. Two thin, threadbare dresses. One dress, cleanest of all, but outdated and unstylish.
Damianâs eyes fixed on the out-of-fashion dress. He knew that dress well. Daphne had always worn it when greeting him upon his return from subjugation missions.
The day he realized she wore the same dress again and again, he had sneered, telling her that her attempt at garnering pity was too trite and that she should try something else.
He hadnât realized that might have been the most valuable thing she owned. To that mocking remark, Daphne had simply smiled gently and replied:Â
[âIâll try.â]
What had she been thinking, his mother? What on earth had she been thinking when she said that?
Damian couldnât begin to understand her heart.Â
How could he, by what right?
ââŠAh.â
A small sound escaped his constricted throat, and in that moment, tears began to stream down his face.
Damian stared blankly at the droplets, as if watching someone else cry.
Plop, plop, the tears left dark stains on the old, worn carpet.
Silently, he wept. Just as Daphne had always done. And he repeated, over and over in his mouth, a question he could not bring himself to voice aloud.
Mother, what kind of life did you live?